Clouded View
by SuicideKitten
Summary: A very depressing look into Severus Snape's psychy . . . *I don't own anything related to Harry Potter*
1. Memories

Lips pursed tightly into that same snide little smirk that he had on in most social situations, Severus Snape sat alone at his desk, tapping the edge of his quill against a stack of ungraded essays. Long strips of greasy black hair hung damply over his sallow countenance. His expression may have seemed to be one of anger, at first glance. However, if you looked into his eyes, it was almost as if there was no emotion there. As if, he were sitting at his desk, attempting to numb his entire body and mind. Consentration showed in his furrowed brow and squinting eyes. Though most would only hear a very faint tapping as the long black quill rapped on the stack of parchment, a loud, daunting thud, resounded through Snape's ears. His piercing black eyes gave a small flicker, as if an unwanted memory had penetrated the sanctity of his mind. Quickly he looked down at his students homework and vehemently began marking the essays, consuming himself in anything but his own thought.  
  
A loud squeal rang throughout the thin walls of the quaint brick home on the hill. As the fire flickered and spout out a mist of sinister sparks, shadows danced across the walls. Hideous screaming insued, followed by a sadistic laughter and finally the distinct sound of a woman crying. The house was dark except for the flickering firelight splattered against the walls. Suddenly, a small boy's voice broke through the loud sobs coming from the woman crumpled in the corner. It interrupted the din, just as the man's laughter had started up again. "Stop it, stop it," the little boy screamed fervently, running toward the man with both hands out in front of him. Though the boy reached barely half way up the tall man's leg, he persisted in ramming his fists against the man's knees. The boy's dark strips of hair fell across his pallid face, yet he never faultered. Laughing harder this time, the man lifted the boy by the neck of his striped shirt and threw him across the room. The walls shook as the boy smacked into the corner of the room. Tears began to pour from his angry black eyes as he curled his small knees up into his body searching for some strength within himself. Even with the boy's feeble attempt to stop him, the man proceeded in what he had intended to do. The man reached out a long arm that was thick with muscle. His shoulder's were large and bulging. He looked down his long hooked nose at the woman and smiled as he snatched her up by her wavy brown hair and began to drag her thin frame across the room. She cried out and kicked a little, yet her spirit had seemed to be broken a long time ago. Blood smeared across the floor after her, seeping from a cut she had sustained across her calf. The boy pulled himself more tightly into the corner, his pale face now turning a dark pink, out of anger and hysteria. Yet the boy was intent on making no sound in his lapse of fury. The man dragged the woman along so easily he may have been carrying a feather. The boy shook with fear as the man's hairy arm reached down toward him. The man lifted the boy by a tuft of his jet black hair and held him up high, as one might carry a bird cage. Both hands completely full he now walked into the next room, which seemed to be almost darker than the first one. However, where as the first room had nothing but four white walls, stained wood floors and a large fireplace, this next room was filled with normal things one would find in a livingroom. The man let the boy drop onto the carpet, and flung the woman out on the coffee table. The boy quickly scrambled behind the couch, tightly forcing his eyes shut, wishing with all his heart he could disappear. The man now sneered as he looked down at the woman, whose face was red and puffy from crying. He lifted a tight fist in the air and let it come down hard on her face. Again and again he pounded his fist against any part of her body it landed on. Each time the woman screamed out in pain and each time the small boy winced harder at the sound of his mother's screams. "Come here boy," the man said gruffly. The boy shook so forcibly he could barely stand up, however he knew whatever punishment he might have to suffer would only be worse if he didn't come. His legs quivered noticably under his skinny frame. When he was halfway to the large man, who was his father, his large hand reached out and grabben the boy by the shoulder. The boy's father turned him around to face his mother, who's face was now red with blood. She had squirmed into a fetal position sobbing so hard that the table beneath her shook. "Look at that. That's your mother, a dirty slut. She deserves this," his father said, not looking at the boy. Suddenly, the boy fell to the floor as a large hand collided with his face. "You're a bad boy, Severus. Very bad." His fist came down on the boy hard. He finished it by kicking the boy hard in the side. "Go to bed, Severus. You're disgusting and awful, you deserved what you got," the boy got to his feet as quickly as he could get the air back in his lungs. He began to run off but his father stopped him. "Wait. Clean up your filthy mother first. Go clean the blood off the whore." The boy's eyes once again welled with tears as he took a small wet rag from his father and began to clean the mixture of blood and tears off of his mother's scrunched up face. "Now," his father continued, "get out of my sight." The boy ran as quickly as his scrawny legs would take him, up the feeble stairs to his room. He locked the door behind him and dove under the covers, still shaking uncontrollably.  
  
Severus woke with a gasp. His face showed was pursed into a look of terror, his mouth slightly agape. He had fallen asleep at his desk again. Pieces of parchment were scattered everywhere and a puddle of ink had formed at the corner of his desk. Small drops of black liquid fell perilously to the dark dungeon floors. The look of terror lasted only a few brief seconds as Snape realized where he was and quickly forced his usual facade back onto himself. Yet the feeling of helplessness remained inside him for a few moments. Angrily, he shovelled papers into a pile and attempted to force the intrusion of memories away from himself. 


	2. Potions

Severus scanned his classroom, slowly from his desk. A dark and menacing look peered out from his stern face. He carefully noted each student, watching them mix their potions. A small sigh escaped his lips at the constant failed attempts. Darting back down to his desk, his dark eyes showed a hint of disappointment, not only in his students, but mostly in himself. He lifted his body from his desk and began to walk around the classroom, nodding at a few students from Slytherin, still with his usual stern look. "What, might I ask, is this?" he asked, stopping in front of Neville Longbottom's desk. A few students giggled.  
"I-it's the, the potion, sir," Neville sputtered out, obviously frightened.  
"No, no. This," he said, pointing to the dark cauldron in on the desk in front of Neville, "is not the potion. This, is a disgrace." For a moment he contemplated saying or doing more, but simply moved on instead, his eyes landing on Harry Potter. "Well, Mr. Potter," he said aloud before he'd even reached Harry's table, "let's see what you've got this time." Once again, there was laughter from a few Slytherin students. Harry said nothing, simply slid his cauldron forward for Snape to examine it. "Well," he began, about to speak, however, the bell rang and students were already up putting samples of their potions on his desk. He thought for a moment about keeping them there a moment, or saying something, yet once again decided against it. He turned quickly, letting his black robes swerve behind him. Sitting down firmly at his desk he made it a point not to watch his students go. To, instead, look very busy writing something down on a piece of parchment. He didn't know why he felt he had to do this exactly, he just didn't want to give in to the feeling that once his students were gone, he would again be completely alone. Assuming it was safe, he looked up, yet three students were still dragging behind. His eyes landed forcefully on one. The boy's messy, jet-black hair was fluttering around as he tried to force his potion into a sample container. His thin, pale frame, his mannerisms. Severus looked quickly away, trying not to think about the man, who that boy reminded him of.  
  
The room was now empty, except for the multitude of heavy scents that lingered in the air from student's failed potions. Briskly, he thought about that fact. The fact that many of his students failed so miserably. He rested on this thought for a moment. It was because they didn't like him, he concluded. Still, feeling unsatisfied, he let a bit of what he was truly dreading seep into his mind. It was because he was a bad teacher. A terrible teacher. A teacher who played favourites and held grudges against the children of his enemies. A teacher who was too stern, too strict. That's why they all hated him. Now, a glint of saddness showed in his heavy, worn eyes. The look he wore on his face made him look battered. As if every ounce of pain he'd felt in his life was suddenly crashing down upon him. For a moment, he almost let himself succumb to the feeling. He almost, just, let go. Yet that was not his way. After years of shutting down, giving up on ever loving another human being or having someone care for him in return, he had grown tight and forced himself to remain without emotion. Some would believe he was simply bitter or angry, not that he didn't have reason to be. Yet after such a long time of being completely and utterly alone, of never having a soul to call a friend or a companion, the fact was, he'd simply shut down. Felt nothing. Pain was too strong of an emotion. It could only come from having lost something very great. Yet Severus never had anything to loose to begin with. Pulling his mouth tightly back into it's usual look, settled his eyes upon the potions before him and sighed as he began to grade each one. 


	3. Persistant Dreams

"Mom, quick mom," a ten year old Severus said breathlessly, slamming behind him the door of their small cottage home. "We have to go."  
His mother turned to him, from her place in the kitchen, where she was carelessly chopping up vegetables for dinner. It would have been much simpler for her to simply use magic to prepare their meal, however, the family rarely used magic for anything. It wasn't spoken of very much. The knife, clasped in his mother's fragile hands stopped in mid air above the remaining half of a carrot as she asked him, "Go where?"  
Severus seemed almost stunned at what she was asking, as he forgot she didn't know the news that he knew. "It's, it's him. Father. He's gone. For the day. He went to help that friend of his, Mr. Johnson, do something. He said it would take all day. Anyway, it doesn't matter, mother, he's out. You know what you always said. You always said-"  
She stared dauntingly down at him through her dark eyes, that were covered in dark, heavy eye shadow, and black mascara. Her entire face, while it should have looked pretty, all dolled up with powder and red lipstick, instead looked menacing. Angry. "What, did I say?"  
Severus gulped, now looking slightly frightened. He began very slowly, "You said, that if there was ever a time, when he'd be gone for a while, that, that we'd leave." Her expression seemed to soften slightly, so he continued with enthusiasm. "So now we can. We can leave mommy, we can just go. Let's go now, let's get out of-"  
A sharp stinging pain could be felt in his cheek, as a large red circle began to emerge from his ashen skin. His mother stood there, looking furious, her hand still lingering in the air. He flinched as she began to speak, afraid she would slap him again. "You, rotten, ungrateful boy. You dirty, disgraceful little brat." Severus took a step backwards. The wrath showing in his mother's dark eyes, was something he had never seen before in her. He had known her to be cruel, as she often was. Still, he'd always reguarded her as being above his father. Now, as she stood in the kitchen, filled with fury, he realized his mistake. "How could you say such a thing, you stupid boy? What do you know? Obviously, nothing. Your father loves us." Tears were now emerging in the corners of her eyes. Tears of rage. He crumpled to the floor as her hand rose again. Without warning she struck, screaming obscenities as she proceeded slapping him with her hand. Severus began to weep, however, he didn't know why. He'd often suffered brutal beatings from his father, who was bold enough to hit him with a closed fist. Now, he was crying because his mother was slapping him with her small, boney hand. It didn't even hurt. It was merely the shock of it all that hit him. She did kick him once. Upon doing so, she fell to her knees and began to cry. Then, she spoke to Severus in the manner she usually addressed him in. Very curt, cutting words. Still, the fury he had seen was begining to disappear. "Get up to your room and pull a comb through that disgusting hair of yours. It's so greasy. Just, get away from me." Immediately, Severus rose and ran upstairs, without looking back.  
  
Sitting bolt upright in his bed, a full grown Severus Snape used two fingers to gently massage his temple. His head was throbbing and his mind was burning, filled with memories he never wanted to relive. 'Why do these dreams keep haunting me?' He wondered, as he sat in the dark. Never before in his life had he had to suffer these distant memories of his childhood. Up until very recently, he had successfully been able to block out things like this. Knowing that if he didn't block them out, they would keep him up at nights, forcing him to feel things that he would rather die than feel. Forcing him to remember a time when he wished he had never been born. Alone in his own bed, he felt more comfortable to linger on these thoughts, than he had during the school day. While he would still rather have the apathy remain, he had to figure out a way to make this stop. To force away the dreams that insisted on plaguing him, every evening. Slowly, certain objects within the room came within vision, as his eyes adjusted. Each object still enveloped in darkness, lit only very slightly by silver streaks of the moon. Quickly, he lifted reached for a glass of water that sat on his night stand. He lifted it to his lips, yet did not drink. The glass was replaced on the night stand, and Severus now began searching for something in it's drawer. A small flicker resided in his dark eyes as his fingers rested upon what they had been searching for. He pulled out a small metal flask and quickly gulped down a few chugs. As it left his lips, he shuttered at it's content's harsh taste. Bourbon. For years, he hadn't touched the stuff, however it always seemed to be the comfort he went back to in the end. Again, he brought the flask to his pale, thin lips and took another sip. Hastily, he screwed the cap back on, as if he had noticed someone was watching him, and returned it to it's night stand drawer. There was a sharp pang of guilt in his mind as he sat there in bed. He pushed it away, rationalizing that he was a grown man, who should not feel guilty for having a drink here or there. Even if it made him smell just like his father. Wondering how he'd let himself think that, he quickly disreguarded his own thought and decided that a little drink here and there never hurt anyone. At that, he forced himself not to feel any guilt, or remember any of the pain he'd felt in his life. It was nothing to be concerned about at the present. Whatever happened in his childhood, should stay in his childhood and no one could convince him otherwise. He vowed never to let on about any of the things he had felt that night, or during any of his other dreams. No one needed to know. At that, he rolled over and went back to sleep, as a whisp of his hair fell into his face. 


	4. Control

"Too busy acting like a hot shot on the Quidditch field to worry about your studies, eh, Potter? Well, it shows. Ten points from Gryffindor for this disgusting excuse for a potion."  
"But I'm not even finished yet!" Harry Potter protested indignantly.  
"Twenty points for arguing. Open your mouth again and it'll be thirty," Severus said, turning away. Then, suddenly, he spun back around and with a flick of his wrist, Harry's potion disappeared. "That was a pathetic attempt. There's still a few minutes left in class, let's see you try to get it right this time." Smiling a thin, evil smile, he walked away satisfied, when he heard Harry mumble, "It's not fair," under his breath. "Thirty points, Mr. Potter," he said gleefully, not bothering to turn and look at the disgrunteld boy. Reaching his desk, he lingered for a moment, then took his seat. As he waited for the bell to ring, he carefully scanned his classroom, feeling a certain sense of happiness pulsing through his veins. While in that classroom, as awful as it may have been to watch these loud mouthed, know it all students fail at every attempt to make a decent potion, there, he had power. There, he was king. What he said, was the law and no one could tell him otherwise. He was a god. Smiling an even more satisfied smile, his eyes narrowed and he achieved his normal look of snide indifference. Suddenly, the bell rang and he watched as a very angry Harry Potter fumbled with his feeble attempt to make another potion. Giving up, the boy quickly left the room, followed by his usual duo of friends. As all of the students filed out of his classroom, every last hint of a smile faded from Snape's stern, unforgiving face. His coal eyes darted away from the door. Each student had left his room in some sort of group. Now, not only had he lost that bit of control he felt so wonderful about. On top of it, he had to watch all of his students running off hapily with their friends. Even young Draco Malfoy, who Severus seemed to favor because the two had a multitude of similarities, had his own little group of buddies. Snape thought briefly about all of his classes and realized that not one of them contained a scrawny, dark haired outcast. Not one of them showed a young boy trying every day not to care about who was laughing at him, or when he'd next be bullied by another young wizard. Discomfort flooded over Severus' body as he began to feel as alone as he truly was. His eyes searched the room for life. Illogically hoping for some student to be breaking a rule somewhere in the back of his class room. Searching for something. Someone. Realizing he was completely alone, he felt, for the first time, that he would have really enjoyed some company. Anyone. Feeling vulnerable already, he let a few bad memories slip into his mind. However, these were of his teenage years. Remembering how James Potter and his cronies had tortured him. How all the students at Hogwarts had laughed. The anger Snape had felt, being so alone. Left to eat lunch by himself every day. Even the other students in his own house had outcasted him. Everyone had a different nick name for him. Everyone had a different reason to hate him. A silent sigh escaped his lips, that had seemed to be drained of all remaining colour.  
  
It was lunch time. Severus knew he couldn't sit in his classroom all lunch hour, waiting for his students to return. Reluctantly, he made his way down to the staff room to get some lunch. As he entered the room, he felt the mixture of eyes darting away from him, trying not to stare for too long, and of other eyes that never even noticed his existance. The teacher's lounge was a slightly more polite version of his school days. "Hello, Severus," came a woman's voice from behind him.  
"Hello, Minerva," he said cooly, trying to sound unaffected. She lingered for a moment, feeling obligated to say more. Wondering if she even should have said something in the first place. He helped her reach a decision, by moving quickly away from her. A few other teachers addressed him. Some even went as far as to make small talk about students or the weather. In these cases of fake interest, where the other teachers seemed desperate to oblige their guilty consciences and talk to Snape, he felt sarcasm was his most fierce weapon. He made sure not to wait too long, listening to them babbling on about subject that lacked all intelligence and importance. After making some snide remark, he would leave, feeling somewhat satisfied as he successfully made it to the lunch table and gathered some food. This was the day's daily routine. However, looking on the bright side, Snape's darkened feeling of lonliness began to lift as he realized how horrible most contact with the rest of the world really was. Perhaps he was meant to be alone. Maybe, he had always been an outcast because he had never found someone who he could relate to, or who could understand him. Though he felt this to be true, he began to eat his food, letting the subject flow from his mind. There was no point in feeling sorry for himself. Feeling angsty and misunderstood. He simply could not see the point in it, so he continued finishing his meal alone in silence.  
As he ate, one last teacher approached his table. "Hey Snape. Food's good today, eh? So, nice weather we've been having . . . " 


End file.
